


1. Scratching an Itch

by glitteredsins, jennandanica



Series: Citadel: Antony Starr and Stephen Amell [1]
Category: Actor RPF, Banshee RPF, New Zealand Actor RPF, Vampire Diaries RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-14 02:08:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4546098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitteredsins/pseuds/glitteredsins, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennandanica/pseuds/jennandanica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Citadel, Antony Starr is an AU (alternate universe) character. He tells people he's an IT Risk Management and Computer Security Consultant but really he's a master thief hired by collectors and other ruthless people to steal for them: art, jewels, money, information. Citadel knows Antony's true occupation and he's been warned to leave the organization and its membership alone. Anything Antony does will only affect outside interests.</p><p>In this first log, Antony meets up with Ian Somerhalder. His story eventually becomes entwined with that of Stephen Amell which is why the storyline is named after them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Scratching an Itch

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Please be aware that this log does not follow SSC or RACK principles. As well, although both pups are members of Citadel, the actions contained herein do not take place on Citadel property and are neither condoned nor endorsed by said organization.

It's nothing more than a hole in the wall really but it's right around the block from Antony's flat and he never has to dress up. Can just throw on a threadbare tee, jeans and his boots and stroll right in, slide his ass onto a stool and the bartender - Mike - already knows what he fucking wants. Which is exactly what he does tonight, half the clientele clothed the same way as him, the other still in their suits, dressed to fucking impress. Except he's not. "Thanks," he says to Mike, sliding his pint closer, his eyes on the mirror behind the bar, checking out the crowd. Watching. Waiting.

It's one of the places Ian got taken to by an ex fuck. It had that vibe he liked, a little rough around the edges, a lot laid back and decent beer on tap. He's in no mood to go to the club and play by their rules while he looks for a hook up, and he's not in the mood to dress up and go hunting the pretty fags at the gay bars. Didn't stop him taking a quick couple of lines of coke before he came out though, just to give him a little edge, a little glint of something to his eyes. 

Ian's in black jeans, black button down shirt, not quite buttoned up enough, and an old leather jacket when he pushes in from the street, head down. _Beer? Vodka?_ It's the dilemma he's had half the way here.

There. Now _that_ interests Antony. He doesn't remember ever seeing the guy in here before which is definitely a good thing. Follows him in the mirror as he makes his way to the bar.

Sliding his butt onto a bar stool Ian greets the bar man with a smile. "Beer, with a whiskey chaser, best you've got," he asks, reaching into his jacket to pull out his wallet.

Antony catches Mike's eye, giving a quick tilt and shake of his head towards the man beside him.

"It's okay, man," Mike tells the stranger, setting a beer in front of him and pouring his whiskey. "It's already paid for."

 _That_ makes Ian's head come up, he blinks at the bar man. "Oh, okay..." he drawls, then nods, turning to look around him to see who's already interested. And there he is, right next to him, an arms length away. Ian picks up the beer and lifts it in salute before taking a long thirsty drink. When the glass is set back on the countertop he twists bodily to turn toward the dark haired man who'd paid for his drinks.

"You want another?" Antony asks, eyeing the other man, taking his measure the best he can based on limited information.

Ian turns his gaze to his drink and back to the other man, quirks a brow. "Wouldn't say no," he admits, with a grin. It's clear there's a vibe going on, and Ian responds by slowly splaying his thighs, offering the other guy a good look see at his package. 

Antony nods to Mike, his eyes still on the other man, slowly sliding down his chest and stomach to what's between his thighs. _Nice._ "I wouldn't say I'm as long as you," he murmurs, his words for them alone. "But I bet I'm thicker."

Ian's grin just gets wider, before he picks up his glass and knocks back the rest of the beer, then he picks up the chaser. "Oh I do hope so," he returns finally, slamming the empty glass down and turning back. 

"Yeah?" Antony's smile slides into a grin. "You look like you like it rough."

 _Bingo!_ Ian nods, "Yep." He up-nods his thanks when a fresh drink is put in front of him. "Safe, but rough," he adds, just to be clear, he's had guys pick him up before now expecting bareback, Ian might play edgy, but he's not suicidal.

"Safe as in safewords or just safe as in use a fucking condom?" Antony asks, polishing off his pint.

Ian's brow climbs at the use of 'safe word'. It's by no means unheard of, but it's not usual in a place like this. He turns back to his drink to consider his response. Then his head comes up and it's the cocaine bravado that replies. "Condom," he shrugs.

"And lube? Or just what's on the condom?" Antony asks, pushing, interested in seeing just how rough the guy likes to get. Just how far that bravado goes.

Shifting on his bar stool, Ian has to reach down to adjust himself. "Enough so I'm not shitting blood tomorrow," Ian replies, "But you're good up to that point."

The adjusting doesn't go unnoticed, Antony's cock pressing hard against the zipper of his jeans in response. "The toilets here are awful," he says, pulling out his wallet and handing Mike a few bills. "But the alley's actually pretty good."

Ian drains his glass and nods. "Oh, and you need to leave my face alone," he stipulates as he slides off the stool. "Work," he adds by way of explanation. He rubs at his nose, wishing he had time to go top up his buzz beforehand. 

Antony starts to ask if the man's a model but then decides he doesn't care. "No problem," he says, leading the way back through the crowd to the door. It's a balmy night outside, just enough moonlight to make this really good. A quick glance over his shoulder to make sure the other man's following and he takes a left into the alley.

Ian follows easily enough, checking the guy out as he moves ahead of him. They're of a similar height, his 'date' maybe a little taller, and he's also a lot more built than Ian, which just adds to Ian's frisson of sexual arousal. The fear's there too, niggling away, telling him how fucking stupid he is heading out here to fuck with a guy he doesn't know, a guy who could easily take him if he wanted. It simply cranks Ian's need up a few more notches. The danger always gives him a hard on like nothing else. _Fuck yeah, game ON!!_.

Well away from the bar and the trash bins close to the mouth, Antony stops and turns, reaching out to grab the other man's jacket and pull him in hard, his mouth on his in an instant, rough and unforgiving.

 _A kisser!_ is Ian's immediate thought, some of the men he does this with never once offer their mouths, they just shove him around, call him names and then fuck him hard. Ian's not particularly bothered either way. He bites back into the kiss, giving as good as he gets, making it clear that he won't go down easy, that he wants to be _forced_ down. His hands grab at the warmed cotton of the other man's tee, touching, fingers digging in tight.

Antony hadn't been sure how the other man would react to the kiss, whether he'd fight it, freak out. The fact that he doesn't is good. He twists and slams him back into the brick wall beside them, biting harder at the other man's mouth, their cocks ground together through their jeans. Christ.

When Ian's body meets the wall the breath is knocked from him, and between that and the way the other guy is smothering his mouth Ian can't draw sufficient breath. He starts to fight back, pushing, growling his supposed denial, even as his hips push back into that thick ridge of flesh pressed to his own.

"You really want to play it like that?" Antony grits through his teeth as he slams the other man back into the wall. Gets an arm against his throat and a hand between them, gripping the guy's cock through his jeans. "You really want to pretend _this_ ," he gives it a good squeeze, "isn't because you want me to fuck you so hard you're still feeling it tomorrow."

Ian's smiling, almost laughing even though he barely has breath. "No..." he wheezes. "It is what it is... but it's always sweeter when... when you've fought for it," he gasps out. "Huh?" He licks his lips and feels his dick twitch hard against that unforgiving hand. 

"Yeah." Antony smiles. He gives that ridge another rough squeeze then steps back. "Show it to me."

"On our first date?" Ian drawls now, a deep breath has him all sassy mouth and attitude, even as he's popping the fly on his jeans, he pulls his shirt up and peels the denim apart, giving flashes of black and grey ink and a dark treasure trail. 

Antony reaches in, pulling the other man's cock free, tongue run across his upper lip as he takes it all in -- the tattoos, the hair, the rigid length, cut, nicely veined and already wet at its tip. "Nice," he murmurs, eyes dancing as he glances up. "Now turn around."

"Nice?" Ian snorts, albeit a little breathlessly, because hell yeah he's turned on as _fuck_. "Nice? My fucking dick is perfect, asshole," he gives it a long stroke. "And I'm not turning until I see the goods." He up-nods. Indicating the fat bulge in the other man's groin. Pushy? Ian? Never!

"Fair enough," Antony says with a grin, pushing up his tee and unzipping his jeans, his cock pulled free. Like he said earlier, it's not quite as long as the other man's but it's thicker, uncut. And so fucking hard. "Satisfied?"

Oh well isn't that just fucking perfect. An unguarded moment of _want_ slides over Ian's face before his mask slots back in place. "Not yet," he rumbles throatily, tearing his gaze away to look up. "But unless you're a shit fuck, I will be."

"I haven't had a complaint yet," Antony says, amused, not letting on that he caught that moment when something other than insolence flashed across the other man's face. "Now turn around."

Ian quirks a brow, because he'd really like, he'd really _get off_ on being made to. But this is one of those double edged moments, he'll either get what he wants, or he'll push this unknown man too far. 

_Fuck it!_

"Make me."

So that's how it's gonna be. Antony considers going back inside and finding something easier. A boy'll who just spread his legs and beg for more, but he's already invested too much time here, and besides which, Antony never takes the easy way. Ever. Christ. He balls up a fist and punches the other man in the gut, not hard enough for serious injury, more to stun than anything else, his hand quickly going to the back of the man's neck and twisting him around, careful of his face when he slams him back into the brick.

Ian can see he's almost pushed too much, and then before he can brace himself he's got a fist connecting with his solar plexus and he's gasping for breath as he's spun around and pushed _hard_ against the wall. _Fuck YES!_ His eyes slip shut and he hisses out mock anger.

"Fucker! Mother fucking..."

Antony laughs. "Nice try, pig," he murmurs, grabbing the other man's left arm and hiking it high on his back while he uses his free hand to pull the guy's jeans down over his hips. "We both know you're a slut, that you're just gagging for my cock up your ass."

Pain. Sweet pain.

The twist of his arm up his back is just fucking perfect. The name calling? _Hell to the fucking YES!_ Ian's dick is aching, already dripping at the tip. His head is spinning with pain, danger, arousal...and need. 

"Just fucking do it..." He grinds out around clenched teeth. "Fuck me."

"I will. In my own sweet time," Antony tells him, hiking that arm even higher, even though he's fucking aching to be buried inside the other man. He digs a packet of lube from his pocket, tears it open with his teeth, spitting on the ground when he gets some in his mouth, fuck. Squirts the fucking sachet between the other man's cheeks and spreads it sloppily with his fingers, two shoved into that hole, twisting hard.

Grunting at the intrusion, Ian 'struggles' enough to give them both the illusion of non consent, but not so much as to derail the proceedings. He bares down at the penetration, demanding more, demanding _now!_. 

"I figured as much," Antony says with a smirk, leaning in as he pushes his fingers deeper, working a third and then a fourth inside the other man's hole. "Knew you for a greedy little fuck pig the moment you walked in."

Ian struggling to stay with it. This is pushing all his buttons. "Yeah?" He huffs out, his voice low, strained. "Takes one to know one," he adds, voice dripping with humor. He whines at finger four and pushes his butt out just a little more. _Fuckmefuckmefuckme..._

"Uh uh. I'm not the one getting fucked," Antony reminds him. "Not the one with the pussy just begging to be reamed," he breathes, giving his fingers one more brutal twist before pulling them out and wiping them on his jeans.

"All.This.Talk." Ian almost sing songs, his breath short, stuttered. "Fuck my goddamned cunt already," he demands, giving one last half assed push against the hold the other man has on his arm, which causes a stab of pain to radiate out from his shoulder.

"I told you. In my own damn time." Antony pulls a condom from his pocket, tears it open with his teeth again, slicking it on single-handedly, not trusting the other man for an instant if he lets go of his arm. He gets his cock lined up, the head pressed against that lubed pucker and shoves, _hard_ , and again, the tight heat of the other man's body making him groan.

Ian gets seconds warning, and then his entire body lights up with pain. Blissful, perfect, _tearing_ pain. He stifles a scream, a vague thought that he'd like something to bite down on, even if it was his own damned fist. And when his face contorts with the almost overwhelming sensation of being torn apart, he arches back. _More.._.

"You like that, pig?" Antony smirks, thrusting harder until he's buried balls-fucking-deep in the other man. He sure as hell does. Christ. It's always the mouthy ones who are this fucking tight. "This what you wanted?"

 _Oh hell yes, do that again, this is fucking perfect, just ram it in again, just like that..._ Ian's brain is a little more agile than his mouth. All he manages is a strangled, slurred, "Fuck, yeah." 

Feeling that moment when all resistance yields, Antony pulls out and drives in again, using his hold on the other man's arm as leverage, his free hand on his hip, pulling him back into each and every brutal stabbing thrust.

Ian's brain? Just shuts down. It's all about raw, visceral, sex now. The slam, punch of the other guys hips as he drives his cock brutally deep inside Ian, the sweat that blossoms and beads over Ian's skin, the way his own erection is waning - still aching, still _hurting_ but softening, and how his hole feels ripped and torn. 

Antony pounds into the other man, driving hard towards his own release. Harder, faster, deeper, bottoming out with every fucking thrust. He's pretty sure his partner's enjoying himself, but right now, he doesn't give a damn. The man wanted to be used and he's sure as hell using him.

Ian's totally disengaged, his mind is off in some happy place of sexpain induced endorphins, helped along by the way he's being used and abused, just exactly how he likes, how he'd been looking for when he'd come out tonight. 

Holding out as long as he can, Antony grits his teeth against coming, every muscle aching with the exertion it takes to keep fucking someone this hard this steadily. But then it hits, slamming into him like a fucking freight train and he shouts, not giving a damn who hears him as his hips stutter and his cock spurts, flooding the condom between them.

Ian's entire body thrums, each punch fuck of the other guys hips adds to the ache that is permeating everything. He makes rough, guttural noises with each thrust, and then suddenly the cock in his ass swells even more and a harsh shout rings in his ears as the other man orgasms, riding up into him one last time. Ian slumps when his fuck does, breathless, sore and high as a fucking kite. "Damn!" he huffs out. "Fucking DAMN!"

Antony nods, panting harshly. "Fuck, yeah," he murmurs, letting his head rest on the other man's shoulder for a moment before pulling out. "Turn around," he orders, finally letting go of his grip on the guy's arm.

The loss of cock in his ass makes Ian frown, but he's soon diverted by the uncomfortable sensation of straightening his arm out, thankfully the daily yoga he indulges in means he's more flexible than most. He turns, a little unsteadily, leaning back against the wall, one hand reaching down to pull up his jeans.

"Don't do them up," Antony says, tossing the condom and pushing the man's hand out of the way, his fingers wrapping around the softened column of flesh and stroking slowly, his eyes locked on the guy's face in the moonlight.

"Huh." Ian huffs out an amused sound. "A gentleman. Who knew?" He arches up into the sure touch. "Shame I can't let you beat me down some more, then it'd be a pretty perfect date," he rumbles, all throaty and full of lust.

"You can always come find me some other time." It's not an offer Antony makes very often, but hell, he doubts this guy's ever going to pose a problem. "Is your face always off-limits?" he asks, thumb stroking over the head, smearing precome around the crown as he works him.

"Most often," there's a hitch in Ian's voice. "Actor," he offers by way of explanation. "Why... what'd you do to me if you could?" the words are a little slurred and he has to brace himself against the wall a little more.

"If I had you somewhere other than this alley?" Antony says, lengthening his strokes. "I'd slap you around, let you try and fight back if you wanted, get you pinned down and then fuck you so hard you'd feel me in your fucking throat."

A hot spike of lust shudders through Ian at the other man's words. "Fucking yeah," he breathes. "I don't play RACK when I bottom dude... fucking beat the shit out of me..." He reaches out to wrap fingers over one of the other man's strong broad shoulders.

Hearing those words come out of the other man's mouth, Antony raises an eyebrow but keeps on stroking. "I won't fucking put you out of commission," he tells him. "And I'm not doing anything where I might have to take you to a fucking hospital, but up until that point we're good."

Ian's smiling, eyes wide in the near dark, his teeth flashing white. "Then we're on the same fucking page," he grinds out. "Fuck!" His hips shove up and he holds on tighter. He'd have been happy to walk away without this; snorting a little blow before these encounters sometimes means he can't always get his rocks off, but not so this time and maybe that's because just about everything here has pushed some fucking button.

"Close..." he warns.

Antony just nods. "Go ahead," he says, his grip tightening, working the other man's cock even more roughly.

Ian bites down on his bottom lip, his fingers dig deep into the other man's shoulder and his breath stutters. When he stills he bites off his sound of pleasure, leaving himself sounding strangled, choked as he orgasms over the guy's fingers, hot, thick spurts of semen.

Antony gives the man's cock a few more strokes, making sure he's got every last drop, and then releases him, wiping his hand on the wall beside them.

Ian slumps, bent over, hands on his knees as he gains his breath. Finally he straightens, and carefully tucks his still semi hard, and cum sticky dick into his jeans, pulling his shirt back in place. Only then does he look up.

"You want my number? Or you just want to come find me sometime?" Antony asks, glancing at his watch. It's getting late, he's got a job he needs to do some work on tomorrow, and the lack of sleep from the last one is getting to him.

If Ian's surprised at the offer he doesn't let it show. "Give me your number, I don't come here often and my schedule's erratic." He's starting to ache, the coke's wearing off and it's time to head home. 

Antony pulls a business card from his wallet and scrawls his first name and mobile number on the back. Holds it out. "I'm overseas a lot but if you leave a message, your number, I'll get back to you and we'll set something up."

Ian takes the card, tilts it to catch some light on it. _Security?_ He glances up. "My name's Ian," he offers. "If I text, will you know it's me? Or do you hand these out like candy?" He's not sassing, merely curious.

"Those I hand out fairly often," Antony says because it's his fucking business card. "The number on the back, not so much. I'll know it's you."

"Cool." Ian nods pushing away from the wall. "That was good, I'll definitely call," he steps away, ready to head back in. On his own. 

Antony nods, a small smile curving his lips. "Enjoy the rest of your night," he says, heading off in the opposite direction.


End file.
